


Hungry Work For Dirty Souls

by PrincessDystopia



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Alcohol, Death, Drinking, Drugs, F/M, Jealousy, Love, Love/Hate, One Shot, Oneshot, Prostitution, Short One Shot, Songfic, Video Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 08:47:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6899194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessDystopia/pseuds/PrincessDystopia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the way she pressed her lips to his skin, Robert Joseph MacCready swore she was the best escape he could have ever found. If only he could learn how to give in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hungry Work For Dirty Souls

**Author's Note:**

> So, this one-shot was prompted to me by a friend on tumblr as a sort of challenge. They gave me a song ("Take Me To Church" by Hozier) and I made a MacCready one-shot out of it in no less than a thousand words. I think it turned out pretty well. Enjoy!

_“Rosemarie.”_

The name rolled off his tongue and onto hers as she placed a barely there kiss upon his lips. He could feel the pouting smile against his skin as her head dipped further down, unfortunately stopping at the crook of his neck. Fingers tightening around the armrests of the chair, he fought his urge to touch her silky skin, seemingly untouched by any scars or radiation. 

“RJ,” she whispered, her rose-stained lips pressing against his jawline. 

He knew there would be evidence of his weekly addiction again. He knew Nora would frown once he returned to Sanctuary Hills, shake her head, and give him the same scolding again. He knew this was wrong, that everything about Rosemarie was wrong for him, but here, in this moment, Robert Joseph MacCready couldn't care less. All he cared about was her, the way she ground her hips into his, and how he just _couldn't_ do it.

He couldn't. Every time he found himself alone with her in the VIP room of The Third Rail, he couldn't. There were so many times when the raven haired beauty nearly begged him, but he couldn't. Lucy always hung around in his memories – her smile, the way she used to giggle at his pathetic excuses for jokes, the way she used to sing to Duncan to quiet his cries in the middle of the night. 

“I need you to relax,” Rosemarie breathed in his ear, “okay?” 

“Okay.”

“Close your eyes and...”

“Relax.”

(-)

Another Sunday, another week endured of watching other men ogle her. MacCready leaned against the brick wall, glaring in sheer jealousy as Hancock leaned into her: the woman nearly every man in Goodneighbor knew. They only knew her for her body, but MacCready knew her for so much more. Beneath the entertainer, he knew the twenty-five-year-old who couldn't even speak of the death of children without shedding tears.

At the sight of Rosemarie gripping onto the front of Hanock's vest and placing a kiss on his wrinkled cheek, MacCready bit painfully into the inside of his cheek. He hated it – the way she gave so many others the kind of attention she gave him, but he knew he wasn't special. It was her job. He was a client, although a halfhearted one. Maybe, just maybe, if he completely gave himself to her, she'd give herself to him.

But he couldn't. 

Because of the way Lucy smiled.

(-)

“Relax, RJ.”

“I can't.”

“Why not?”

Slinking off his lap, the naked girl curled herself at his feet and rested her cheek on MacCready's knee. He knew Rosemarie was tired; it was nearly four hours later than their usual weekly meeting time, but he had gotten into town late and she was more than willing to shed her clothes for him. 

He didn't want to tell her. It was such a petty reason, after all. The way her charcoal eyes bored into him and the way she pulled her pink lips into a small pout...Like always, he gave in. He knew he'd always give in eventually.

“I saw you with Hancock last week.”

“You see me with Hanock all the time.”

He immediately regretted opening his mouth at all, except to meet hers, that is. “Yeah, I know,” he murmured, averting his gaze. He could feel his cheeks heating up. “But you kissed him this time.”

Rosemarie pressed her mouth into a thin line, exhaling long and slow through her nose as she stared him down. He wished, for the first time since meeting her, that she would take her eyes off him. “RJ,” she purred, gently pulling on his worn jeans as she climbed her way toward his mouth. She planted a delicate peck on his cracked lips. “I kiss you all the time. See? Y'know, I can show you the other things I can do for you.”

“I can't.”

“I know. Because Lucy.”

No, it wasn't just Lucy. It was also the sound of her laughter.

(-)

She was singing. He couldn't see her, but _god_ , he knew that voice anywhere. And then she stopped.

“You up, RJ?” 

Rolling to his side, MacCready cracked his eyes open. Every joint and muscle in his body ached, including his heart. In a panic, he sat up, covering himself with the thin blanket that had been laid over him at some point during the night. “What the hell happened?” he gasped, his head suddenly swarming with Lucy's face.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Rosemarie offered a sad smile. Her skin glowed in the light of the rising sun through the window. “Nothing,” she admitted. Her voice, tight with regret, seemed so far away. “We didn't do anything.”

MacCready racked his brain, desperately trying to remember what had happened the night before as he buried his face in his hands. The two had been drinking, she shot up Psycho, handed him the syringe, and then...nothing. “Oh, god...”

“RJ, relax. I told you, we didn't do anything.” 

“It's not that!” he snapped, his head lifting from his sweating palms. Rosemarie stared him down, absolute confusion glistening in her dark pools. He stared back, heavy breaths rising and falling in his chest. 

He'd dreamed of Lucy, of watching her face full of fear as she died over and over again. He wished for more Sundays with his wife, for more ways to worship her and everything she had become and made him become. He knew he'd never have that chance, and damn it, he wasn't going to let himself regret the same thing ever again.

Leaning into her, MacCready crashed his lips onto Rosemarie's, catching her off-guard in a surprise of a kiss. He didn't give her the opportunity to kiss him back before he pulled away. 

“Let me give you my life,” he whispered against her skin, his lips trailing down to her chest, “but let me be sober as I do it.”


End file.
